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2012-09-07 I'm Not The Devil
Early morning, long before the day even knows it's on the way, and the sky over Hell's Kitchen is a sullen grey. Bethany has been running for nearly two hours now, just hitting her stride. She's in her usual gear--running top and shorts, sneakers, water pack, heavy-duty stun gun strapped to the bottom of the pack. At this point in the run, it feels as though her body is made of liquid energy, all warm and full of potential. Like she could go forever. Around hour four, she usually wonders how she ever thought that, but today she's not going that far. She races through what's traditionally thought of as a bad area of town. To Beth, there are no bad areas of town. Bad areas of town are rubble and corpses and nowhere to put a chopper down without getting nailed. Getting shot at, even if someone had reason to shoot her here, would be a welcome excuse to shoot back. That's why it's so weird that her sixth sense is all a-prickle. There were cop cars a couple blocks over, but that usually just sends the roaches back into the dark. No reason anyone would be targetting... before she can think about it, she throws herself into an alley, up onto a dumpster and down into it as a car rockets toward her--missing her by inches--and hits the dumpster with a smash that drops the lid. It really wasn't much of a fight, as far as Luke was concerned. He heard about these fools arranging an illegal fight down by the docks, so he just went to check it out. When he confirmed what was going down, he just called the cops, went inside, and locked himself in there with everyone. Stepping out into the early morning light, Cage looks a little worse for wear, mainly just because his shirt is completely in tatters, and his boots are looking pretty scuffed. Somebody ripped the left, back pocket off his jeans, but otherwise his pants made it through the fight unscathed. He takes a deep breath of the fresh morning air, removes the tatters of his shirt, and tosses them into a nearby trashcan. It's cool though. He's /Luke Cage/. Luckily, too, the cops actually didn't leak the crime scene to the press yet, so after he gives his brief statement, he walks past the police cruisers, and starts to make his way to a part of town where a cab will actually pick him up. Just then, that car barrels past him, turns a corner, and he can hear the screeching of tires blocks away, just before the crash. Luke is no sprinter, but he breaks into a trot to chase those fools down, and see how much trouble they've caused. BAM. Bethany's feet hit the lid of the dumpster and it slams back. She's out and on the ground behind it before it slams back down. She doesn't give a thought to--what she landed in, who's behind this stunt, or why this is happening. Huddled behind the dumpster, she's counting sounds. Another screech: second vehicle behind the car now blocking the mouth of the alley. Shouting and car doors popping: one, two, three, four from the car in the alley; one, two from the car in the street, and the sound like back doors. Pause on backdoor slams from both cars. Person sitting in the middle. Feet boom off the car hood and the dumpster. Bethany grabs a broken 2x4 and rolls, comes up swinging as two goons come down off the dumpster. One coming around the side registers out of the corner of her eye. Protect the jewels and the guts, gentlemen. One, two, go down like sacks of potatoes, the late third gets an arm up in time to take the hit. Oh, the names they're calling her. Luke comes jogging around the corner and cannot stifle the "Oh, heeell, no..." He's looking at one fine-looking red-head, up against Way Too Many goons. He doesn't know her (yet), but he doesn't have to. Step one, even the odds. If she's the bad guy though, he'll take her out himself. If not? Then he'll just take her out. To dinner. The sound of rending metal announced Cage's new toy - a brand new car door! He swings it in a broad arc, braining the three guys who were just turning around to take in the newcomer. They drop with thuds, and the two on the other side of the car he borrowed his door from open fire. BLAM BLAM BLAM. Their heavy caliber pistols echo deafeningly in the alleyway, but Cage just throws an arm up in front his face and the bullets flatten against his ribs and forearm. More offended than hurt, obviously, Cage seems to take issue with being shot at, and kicks the car towards the men, who just manage to dive out of the way as the car slams sideways into the brick wall. There is just a really terrible noise--it's not loud, but it's visceral--as Bethany shatters a man's kneecap and other associated bones with her heel. Legs don't bend in that direction... and certainly not in three places. One of the guys Bethany got in the 'nads pulls a gun and fires but she's already dropped to the ground and sweeps a foot to take him out. The next shot plugs his buddy in the shoulder. Shouldn't play with guns, boys. This fight is nearly over already. Yeah, he's still offended. This whole thing is just /wrong/. "Apparently you boys don't know how to talk to women." Luke leans down and flips the car toward the entrance of the alley way, throwing it at the man who scrambled in that direction. A gurgled shriek can be heard as the car lands on the man's legs, and then he passes out from the pain. The other man, the one who went left instead of right, is just huddled against the wall, staring wide-eyed up at Luke, gun forgotten in his hand. "Get. The fuck. Out." And he does. For some reason, this man feels inspired to go for a morning jog of his own. Or a sprint. For his life. Whatever. The goon who just shot his buddy pops right back up from that leg sweep, calling Bethany every ugly name in the book, waving his gun at her. She just gives him a fine approximation of The People's Eyebrow, disarms him with her left hand and knocks him out cold with her right fist. On the pull-back, her elbow to the back of the head drops the goon still reeling from getting grazed in the shoulder. "Is that it?" Bethany looks around, mildly disappointed, then catches sight of Luke. Ah, right. Little voice in the depths of her head said she had some backup. She drops the 2x4 and pulls out her phone to call Sal so he can have the cops swing by. Sure, Bethany's a little grubby right now, grit from the ground and the dumpster clinging to a sheen of sweat, but she's still a curvy, well-muscled young thing with a long, shiny red ponytail, black lycra crop-top and short-shorts, legs for days, and bright blue eyes that light up when she flashes Luke a wicked grin. "Well played, by the way. Thanks." She's also completely unshaken by the whole thing, unmoved by blood and wailing and gnashing of teeth from the goons. Well, Luke was shirtless to start with, and didn't magically grow one in the meantime, so he's just the same. It happened to fast to break a sweat though. I mean really, /one/ car toss? Who gets winded at that? Which is not to say Luke looks bored. Luke does not take this vision for granted. Besides, he might be called on for a police sketch later! He gives her an appraising look, takes in the goons she left scattered around, and nods. "Nice work, Red," he says, when she hangs up. He steps closer if she lets him, apparently not self-conscious about his shirtlessness in the least, but then, after those Old Spice commercials, how could he be? Extending his hand, he grins and asks, "You wanna tell me why you're beatin' up on poor defenseless hoodlums like this?" "Dude. They started it." Bethany is not in any way intimidated by being cornered in an alley by a large, shirtless man who can throw cars. In fact, she's appraising the hell out of him right back--but more in the way that one would look over a very fine car. How fast can it go, can I afford it, where would I drive it? ...maybe there's not much difference there at all. Bethany shakes Luke's hand and she has a good grip, callussed from firing guns and climbing rock walls. "Bethany Cabe, Cabe-McPherson Security. I get a feeling one of my clients' ex's is having a tantrum again. I'll work out who and lay some lawyers on his ass." "Ah, right." Luke says, hanging on to the handshake a moment longer than strictly necessary. Not with brute force, but just in that, 'oh yeah, I should let go now' way. "CMS. As in, 'Yes Mr. Cage, what exactly can Heroes for Hire do for us that CMS can't?'" Luke chuckles and glances over his shoulder at the entrance of the alley. He stands back, and takes on a terrible, NYC street version of a cockney accent. No, Luke. Just, no. "Shall we walk, m'lady?" He drops the accent, and talks while they walk. "Actually, it /is/ nice to meet you, Ms. Cabe. My partner and I have been hearing a lot about your organization, and I'd be interested in making sure we don't create any conflicts of interest." The smooth transition to business-speak? Nah, he's just smooth. Besides. It's always business first. Then pleasure. "Bethany. Please. It's nice to meet you, Luke." Having alerted Sal, Bethany slips her phone away as she walks with Luke. "I'm sure we'll all be fine but it's good to work these things out. I've only recently taken over our American operations and, if I may be frank, I much prefer the work in the more 'active' countries." Unlike Luke, Beth really likes guns. Lots of guns. She also likes to use them where they're appropriate--like where everyone has one and there are few bystanders, preferably none. "I do hope we're not encroaching at all," she says. "In fact, I've been keeping an eye on your organization. I like to have like-minded and trustworthy people to whom I can refer clients who might not need our level of coverage." "Nah, don't worry about it. We're not exactly going after the same client," Luke says, sending a slow elbow nudge her way. Apparently he's not so picky about personal space. "I mean, we'd love to get a Stark or a Hammer. Sure. But we're just two guys, you know? We've been taking on small, special team kinds of projects. It's been working out ok. Just a slow growth." He shrugs, rolling his ridiculous shoulders, and then looks down at one of the bigger guys he'd knocked out with the torn off door. He cocks his head and then kneels down, and picks up the man like a child with a ragdoll. He carefully peels off the punk's 'Public Enemy' t-shirt, and pulls it on. It's skin-tight on him, but that doesn't seem to bother him. "You don't get to wear that, punk." He tosses the man back down as they walk on. "It was just Ling and I to start with," Bethany says. She's not perturbed at all about him taking someone's shirt. Little punk shouldn't have been wearing it, Luke's got that right. "We started small ten years ago. Of course, I had an inheritance and a wealthy husband as well as a lot of upper-class connections--I don't discount the power of those things at all. It's going to go slower here in America if you're coming up from street-level." She's blunt about the realities and her advantages. Not gloating, simply acknowledging them for what they are in the grand scheme of things. "How are you finding it? You've got some publicity going, that's always good, but it makes it hard to be inconspicuous for the job." Luke shrugs, holding his palms up in a mas o menos, kind of gesture. "It's slow going, but the publicity is kind of our 'gimmick', you know? Our customers want the face. The attitude." Luke seems pretty frank, and self-aware for someone who hits the media like a ton of garish bricks every chance he gets. Is every move a calculated gamble on his part? It's possible. The man's no dummy though. "And hey, was that 'had a husband' a past tense thing?" Ok, that's not exactly what she said, Luke, but nice paraphrase, buddy. "Past tense, yes. Just recently. My media control and the Germany government shut the story down, but Alex died last week. Cocaine and meth are awfully hard on the body. Being wealthy and important doesn't mean a damn thing in the face of addiction." Bethany is quite calm about it. Pragmatic. But Luke's probably known his share of women in her shoes. You do get a little separate from it all after enough years. "Speaks well for my media guru that it hasn't hit the rumour mill on the streets yet, I must say. Up where the air is rarified, they're murmuring I had my hand in it. It wasn't me, mind you." Luke takes a deep breath and walks on in silence for a bit. 'Embarrassed' isn't really the right word, because he isn't, but if one could flip open his head and get a perfect read on him, it would be a lot more about regretting being disrespectful. You just don't disrespect a widow like that. Finally, he shakes his head and says, "Bethany, I'm sorry. I didn't mean no disrespect." Another beat. Don't water it down with too many words. "But, if you're thinking somebody maybe gave him some bad stuff... I have some inroads in the underside of this city. Maybe I could help?" "You know, I'd appreciate that, Luke. I just don't have the right resources." Bethany's not upset with him. "And I know you didn't mean anything by it. Like I said, my media people are good. Here's the thing, Alex was an addict for... probably the whole time I knew him, and I knew him when I was quite young. He was my schoolfriend's older brother. I know Alex on coke, and even meth, and what I was seeing since we came to America... he was different. More violent. Careless. Sloppily promiscuous instead of keeping it hidden. All those years of walking the line and he just blew out in four months--I wasn't there for the first two, so I don't know who started it. But I will damn well finish it when I do know." Addiction is a all too prevalent in Luke's neighborhood. He nods, and his voice is soft with empathy, which is markedly different from pity, of course. "That junk is everywhere in this town, and I don't care if it's Harlem kids, or boardroom execs. The monkey on your back weighs the same no matter where you come from." Luke is actually fuming, slightly, but at the epidemic, not at Beth. "I've been making dents in their operations around town, but nothing serious yet. A number of them still think they can hire me for protection." He spits on the ground to the side, away from Beth. "Like they think I don't /care/." He takes a moment, and a breath, calm again. "Sorry. But if you let me, I'd love to help crush those cockroaches." "I will not only let you, I will back you. How about that, Mr. Cage?" Bethany holds her hand out to him to shake. "I know you don't like guns--I don't like them much either here in an otherwise peaceful urban environment--but I can offer you access to less-than-lethal control solutions, transportation, surveillance and tracking equipment, and some agents as you need them. You tell me what you need and it's yours--your job, your calls, I'll be your resource, no questions. I'm sure it'll work out for both of us." It takes a good long moment for Luke to really consider and absorb the implications of Bethany's offer. Which seems like a serious one. Rubbing at the stubble on his jaw he starts to nod and stops himself again. No, he cannot offer his usual condition of having dinner with him. You just don't ask out a week-old widow. But maybe when this is all done... Play your cards right, Cage, and who knows. "You're on, Bethany." He punches a fist into his other palm. "We could make some beautiful music together. Like that song back there." He hooks a thumb back in the direction of the alley. Looking up he notices they're approaching more of a thoroughfare. "Share a cab downtown?" "I will do you one better, Mr. Cage." Bethany points to a Bentley that's purring to a halt at the end of the street. "My assistant sent one of my cars for me. Let me give you a lift, we can talk business and you can look over the relevant inventory." She winks at him--yes, she's just playing, but it's too good to pass up. "Let me know if there's anything in there you want for yourself." Luke lets out a long, low whistle, giving the car almost as thorough a looking over as he gave Beth earlier. "Damn, woman... That is just about the finest piece of metal hammered out by man." He puts a hand out, and as the car rolls to a stop in front if them, he runs a hand along the smooth, black curves, almost certainly to the consternation of the driver. "Ok, so you're not /wearing/ the red dress, but you must have one. Everyone says it's the devil's favorite." He turns around to face her, and open the door for her, frustrating the driver even /more/. "I assume we have to sign the paperwork in blood, right?" He's totally kidding. Probably. Unless she really is the devil. "No blood, no paperwork. Handshakes will do unless you'd like me to sign something. I do have a red dress or two," Bethany adds as she slides in, laughing at him. "I'm not the devil, Mr. Cage, but I do have dinner with his daughter once in a while." Under the laughter and the challenging little look she gives Luke--she is -completely damn serious-. "Come on in," she says, inviting him to join her amidst all the hand-stitched leather and polished wood inlay and fancy computer screens. "We're going to have a lot of fun getting our problems solved." Category:Logs Category:RPLogs